Bandages
by lilien passe
Summary: A young Ludwig gets hurt. Gilbert reluctantly plays the part of older brother. Hurt/Comfort with a mild sprinkling of Fluff.


-Author's Notes-

So I've decided that kid Ludwig is probably the hardest thing to write. Ever. I tried to use this fic to sort of flesh out what I think of him as a character… and it just ended up being about Gilbert. Again.

I fail.

Warnings: Blood, a bit of language… that's about it.

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_Bandages_

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"Gah…" Gilbert stared at the piles of parchment littering his desk. He cursed, batting the loose pages away with one elegant hand. "Fuck it," he muttered, "I get paid to do their dirty work, not this goddamn treaty business that comes after."

The platinum haired man stood, popping his back, absently wondering if he could convince the chef to let him sneak into the kitchen again. Suddenly, there was a small noise at the entrance of his study, and Gilbert turned to see Ludwig standing there, the small boy partially obscured by the large doors. His pale cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes rimmed with red as though he had been crying.

Gilbert stared at the young nation for a moment before rolling his eyes. "C'mon, brat. We talked about this. You've gotta either enter the room or say somethin' if you want to get my attention."

Ludwig's pale cheeks darkened even more, but he remained outside of Gilbert's study. "I…I was fencing," the boy said quietly, his small hands clenched at his sides. "On the steps outside our house."

Gilbert tilted his head to the side, studying his young charge. "And?" he asked casually, yawning in the summer heat. "You hurt or somethin'?"

Ludwig nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. He scrubbed at them furiously, "P-Prussia… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Gilbert's internalized orders kicked his ass in gear, and he covered the span of the room in two quick strides, kneeling at the boy's side. "Stop cryin' already," he muttered, grabbing Ludwig by the hand and leading him to the couch. "Remember what the Kaiser said. You've gotta be the face of our house now. And I for one don't want to be represented by some goddamn crybaby. Not when the whole world is lookin' at us like they are."

Ludwig nodded, angrily wiping away the tears still streaming down his face. "I understand, Prussia. I'll try and be-"

"Stop callin' me that," Gilbert said wearily, "Dunno how many times I gotta tell you before it finally sinks in." He stood and walked over to his desk, rooting through the drawers until he came across some old bandages and cotton padding. Gilbert grabbed the medical supplies, along with a pair of hopefully not too dull scissors and headed back to the couch. In the few seconds he'd been gone, Ludwig had pulled himself together, and the young boy was staring straight ahead, his back ramrod straight.

Gilbert sighed. He really wasn't cut out for this older brother type stuff. A part of him was relieved at the sudden change in the boy. Creepy obedient child he could handle. A bundle of snot and tears he could not. But the other part of him, the rebellious part that had refused to bow down and call Wilhelm 'Emperor' wanted to make the kid snap out of it. To tell him it wasn't the end of the world when he fucked up. But orders were orders, and he was nothing if not loyal. So he fought against the pathetic and weak instinct that told him to reach out and ruffle the kid's hair and let him cry as much as he wanted. There were luxuries his house couldn't afford.

He sat down in front of Ludwig and looked up into his cornflower blue eyes. "Tell me what happened. Slowly."

"I was fencing with Johannes," Ludwig recited monotonously. "I made a mistake that resulted in my acquiring an injury, and for this I apologize."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, "We gotta get you out of those diplomat trainin' classes. They're makin' you dull as shit."

Ludwig's stoic face fell, and for a second he was just a boy again. "I-I apologize?" he said in slight confusion, pale blonde eyebrows knit together.

"Whatever," Gilbert said tiredly, "Just… show me where he got you, okay? I'll get you patched up and out of here. Wilhelm won't ever even know about it."

Ludwig clenched his jaw and nodded before gingerly lifting up his shirt to expose his abdomen. The blonde boy carefully peeled off the blood soaked bandages that had been haphazardly wrapped around him.

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Damn, brat…" he breathed, eyes raking over the long, thin wound that spanned the entire width of Ludwig's torso. "You must've seriously pissed off ol' Johan for him to cut you up like this."

"I'm afraid I… verbally attacked him," Ludwig mumbled, his face flushing again. "I used words that I've heard you say before on the battlefield. I was unaware of their implications."

Gilbert paled. "You uh… just keep that kinda stuff to yourself, okay kid?" he laughed nervously. "Wilhelm doesn't need to find out about your enhanced vocabulary either."

Ludwig nodded solemnly. "I promise," he said quietly. The boy's faint voice snapped Gilbert back to reality. He shook his head, and slowly began unwinding the dirty bandages from around the young boy's waist. Gilbert quirked an eyebrow up at his charge. "You try and fix this yourself?"

Ludwig nodded slowly, and Gilbert noted with a slight start of panic that the boy was growing pale. "I-I hid in the gardens, but I couldn't get the bleeding to stop," Ludwig said, his voice starting to waver. "I didn't know how…"

Gilbert cursed under his breath, tearing away the wrappings as fast as he could without hurting the young nation. "Just fuckin' great," he muttered, "Let's teach the kid political theory so he can go out and bleed to death not twenty feet from the damn house. At least he'll be able to spout Machiavelli verbatim while he's dyin'."

Ludwig's breathing grew shallower, and Gilbert scrambled to get the now steadily bleeding wound patched. "Hold this shut," he snapped at the boy, pinching the wound closed. He ran over to his desk again, haphazardly yanking open drawers as he scoured the unorganized mess for a needle and thread, swearing as the sought-for needle skewered his rummaging finger. Gilbert angrily yanked the drawer from its tracks, and carefully extracted the needle from his thumb. He spotted a spool of thread amidst his piles of letters and grabbed it before racing back to the couch.

Ludwig's eyes were clenched shut, and his skin was clammy and freezing. For the first time in his ruthless existence, Gilbert felt a dull prick of fear for someone other than his long-dead leader. He shook his head to clear it, focusing on the task at hand. He threaded the needle automatically, and held it out into the flame of a nearby candle to sterilize it. Gilbert gently pushed on Ludwig's thin shoulder. "Lie down, brat," he commanded, "I'm gonna take care of this."

Ludwig's panicked blue eyes were focused on the needle, but he gave a tight nod and lay back, crying out softly as the motion pulled at the wound. Something broke inside Gilbert when he heard the noise, and his hand started to shake. He cursed softly under his breath to steady himself. He'd sewed up hundreds of wounds before, all of them a thousand times worse than this. There was no reason to panic.

He withdrew the white hot needle from the flame, and tossed a heavily embroidered cushion at Ludwig's head. "Hold that against your face," Gilbert snapped, forcing himself to not look at the boy's terrified expression. "This is gonna hurt."

Ludwig gave a tight nod and buried his face in the pillow, his slender arms shaking with pain and fear. Gilbert let the world fade to gray around him – the gray of the war and battle that he loved. Stitch by stitch, he sewed up the wound with expert and steady hands, eyes fixed on the task, ears deaf to his brother's muffled cries of pain. Of calling out to him. For him.

Finally, it was done. Gilbert carefully wiped away the blood still seeping from the sides of the neatly stitched wound, nodding in smug satisfaction at his own skilled handiwork. "Easier than puttin' Austria in his place," he smirked, tossing aside the needle and thread, their usefulness expired.

"Are…are you finished?"

Ludwig's child-like voice, horse with crying, was enough to drag Gilbert away from the roar of battle. Slowly the world regained its color, and the platinum haired man blinked, turning his head to focus on Ludwig's face. The boy looked sick with pain and terror, clutching the pillow against the lower half of his face as tightly as he could. Gilbert reached out to gently pluck the cushion out of Ludwig's small hands. "It's done," he said simply. "Don't have to worry about your guts fallin' out. For now, anyway."

Ludwig stared up at him with large blue eyes still rimmed with unshed tears. "I… thank you, Pru-… Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Gilbert said curtly, helping the young boy sit up so he could wrap the bandages tightly around his waist. "I've seen a lot worse. Hell, I've dolled out a lot worse and seen the guy live for about two more seconds before I actually _tried_ to kill him. They never get up after that." He absently reached out to run his thumb under Ludwig's eye, wiping away the boy's tears.

Ludwig flinched away from the touch, "You've… you've killed many men."

"You got that right," Gilbert said, wiping his bloodstained hands on the already ruined bandages. "It's what I was born to do. What I was raised to do. And I'm damn good at it."

Ludwig stared up in exhaustion at the older man. "Was… was it what you wanted to do?" he asked cautiously, cringing as Gilbert pulled the wrappings tight. .

"Wasn't a matter of 'want', kid," Gilbert said offhandedly, pushing Ludwig to lie down once more. "It was a matter of need. War is what I am. Can't deny somethin' so basic."

"Is that why your eyes are red?" Ludiwg asked in a small voice. "They're red. Like blood. They used to scare me. You were always glaring at everyone during council meetings…"

Gilbert smirked, but shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine, brat. I've got no idea why we look the way we do."

"And there are no more battles nowadays," Ludwig said, his voice soft and puzzled. "Why does Wilhelm keep you, then?"

"Trust me," Gilbert said dryly. "If there's one thing you learn about humanity, it's that they're _never_ done fightin'. Wilhelm knows that better than anyone. Even if he's got you as the public face of our house, he still needs me to take care of stuff until you're strong enough to stand on your own. Then you'll take my place and he'll order me gone. Plain and simple."

Ludwig sat up in a sudden burst of energy, wincing as the motion pulled at his wound. "Then I will remain an invalid forever," he stated fiercely, blue eyes shining with a determined righteousness, ignoring the pain in his stomach. "Then the Kaiser will never make you leave, and you can fight and kill as much as you want." Ludwig smiled resolutely up at the older man. "I promise you this."

Gilbert stared down at the boy for a moment before snorting softly. Ludwig glared at the older nation. "What's so funny?" he said indignantly, "I was being quite serious."

Gilbert just grinned down at the blonde boy. "You've got some balls, kid, thinkin' you can stand up to the Kaiser like that," he drawled. "You learn that in your political theory classes?"

Ludwig shook his head, his blonde bangs falling into his eyes. "No," he said proudly, reaching out to tug on Gilbert's scarred hand. He looked up into the older nation's blood red eyes. "I learned it from you."

Gilbert just stared at the small hand clasping his before sighing and standing up, pulling his hand out of the boy's grip. "You're all fixed, brat. Now get the fuck out of here," he said vacantly. "Wilhelm had me swear a blood oath not to talk to you. He thinks I'm gonna make you start declarin' war on everythin' and tear the Empire apart."

"I know," Ludwig said timidly, "I heard him yelling at you after you gave me fencing lessons. That's why he made me practice with stupid Johannes."

Gilbert let out a surprised bark of laughter at the petulant tone of the young boy's voice. He turned back around to see Ludwig grinning shyly in triumph, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the embroidered pillow. "I… I made you laugh," Ludwig said, raising his eyes to stare hesitantly at the older nation. "I've never made anyone laugh before." Suddenly, Ludwig yawned, but doubled over a moment later, giving a sharp cry as the movement strained his wound.

In a flash Gilbert was at the boy's side, shoving the younger nation down to lie flat on the sofa. "What are you doin', idiot?" he snapped, a slight trace of fear making him lash out more than even he normally would. "Lie down and shut up, West. We can't move you out of here until you get over the shit ton of blood you lost."

Ludwig just grinned meekly at the platinum-haired man, his blue eyes slipping slowly closed. In a moment, his breathing evened, and some of the color returned to his too-pale cheeks as he drifted off to sleep.

Gilbert felt some quiet and altogether foreign emotion stir within him from the memory of the younger nation's smile. It quieted the bloodlust that forever raged inside him, soothing the clamoring voices that twisted him into a creature of war. He slowly knelt down next to the sofa, staring off absently into space.

"Maybe I'm not so obsolete after all, Fritz." Gilbert muttered to himself, watching the steady rise and fall of the young boy's chest as he slept. "You always told me you thought I could be somethin' better. Somethin' more than just the solitary thing I've always been." The red-eyed man reached out to brush sweaty bangs out of Ludwig's face, pausing to make sure that the boy did not have a temperature. He snorted, "Sorta makes me wonder if you were some kinda prophet, Ol' Man."

Gilbert stood, shaking his head in exasperation as he made his way back to his desk. "Kid's gonna be the death of me," he growled, shoving the now broken and splintered drawers back into their equally battered places.

He plunked himself down in the chair, and reached for the first pile of papers with a sigh of absolute resignation. He lifted his pen to the first line, and began writing.

He had a new nation to protect.

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End Notes:

Wow. Gilbert's desk is just as disorganized as mine.


End file.
